Jonnie sat quietly until the Chief thumped the chair arm with his sword hilt. The Chief looked at a council member. “You wished to speak, Angus?”

“Aye. There is another myth, that once long ago when Scots were thousands, a great crusade went south and they were crushed.”

“That was before the demons,” shouted another council member.

“Nobody has ever fought the demons!” yelled another.

A grizzled council member stood forward and the Chief recognized him as Robert the Fox. “I do not deny,” he said, “that it would be worthy cause. We starve in the Highlands. There is little grazing for sheep. We dare not plow and plant crops as our ancestors once did in these rocky glens, for the myths tell us demons fly through the air and have eyes, and some say that the strange metal cylinder that passes overhead on some days is itself a demon.

“But I also tell you,” he continued, “that this stranger, clothed in what I take to be buckskin, signifying a hunter, speaking a strangely accented speech, smiling and courteous and no Argyll, has voiced an idea that in all my long life, I have never heard before. His words cause the mind to flare with sudden vision. That he can propose such a vision of daring and boldness proves that in some way he must be a Scot! I recommend we listen.” He sat down.

Fearghus was musing. “We could not let all our young men go. Some would have to be from the Campbells, some from the Glencannons. But never mind. Stranger, you have not told us either your name or from whom you are a messenger.”

Jonnie braced himself. “I am Jonnie Goodboy Tyler. I am from America.”

There was chatter. Then Robert the Fox said, “Legends say it was a land of the ancients where many Scots went.”

“Then he is a Scot,” said another council member.

The Chief held up his hand to quiet them. “That doesn't tell us from whom you are a messenger.”

Jonnie looked calm. He didn't feel calm. “I am a messenger from mankind– before we become extinct forever.”

He saw a flicker of awe in some, a flicker of wonder in others.

The Chief leaned forward again. “But how did you get here?”

“I flew here.”

The Chief and the others digested this. The Chief frowned then. "In these times only the demons can fly. How did you get here from America?”

“I own a demon,” said Jonnie.

He had to get to Terl before the monster took off and blasted the village. The sun was arcing up perilously close to the deadline: noon.

Jonnie ran uphill on the trail, his heart overworked. Bushes whipped by. Stones rolled under his pounding feet.

It had been a wild night and a hard-worked morning.

The clan Chief had sent runners and riders thundering across the Highlands to summon other Chiefs. They came from far glens and hidden caves of the mountains, bearded, kilted, cautious, and suspicious– enemies, many of them, one to another.

The Chiefs of the MacDougals, Glencannons, Campbells, and many others had come. Even the Chief of the Argylls. A subdued English lord from a group in the lower hills had come. The King of a tiny Norse colony on the east coast had strode in late. It was after midnight when Jonnie could talk to them all.

He leveled with them. He explained that Terl had personal plans of his own, independent of the company, and was using his power to further his own ambitions. He told them that Terl conceived himself to be using Jonnie, and through Jonnie, men, to carry out his project, and that quite possibly

Terl would slaughter the lot of them when he had finished with them.

Jonnie began to realize, as he spoke to the intent faces around the flickering council fire, that he must be dealing with some Scot love of guile. For when he told them he had an outside chance of turning the tables and using Terl, only then did the Chiefs begin to nod and smile and hope.

But when he told them about Chrissie, held as a hostage against his good behavior, and that part of his own plan was to rescue her, he had them. A streak of romanticism, which had survived all their defeats and humblings, welled up in them. While they could agree to a long-shot objective with their minds, they rose to the rescue of Chrissie with their hearts. What does she look like? Black eyes and corn-silk hair. How was she formed? Beautiful and comely. How did she feel? Crushed with despair, hardly daring to hope for rescue. They were angered by the collar, disgusted with the leash, violent about the cage. They shook their chiefly weapons in the flashing firelight and made speeches and quoted legends.

Beacon fires had been set flaming in the hills, their Chiefs signaling a gathering of the clans. They sent their warlike messages until the dawn.

A meadow was the assigned meeting place, and by noon the clans would be there.

Questions and introductions and ceremony had detained Jonnie until after eleven of the morning, and he looked up with a shock to see that he had very little time indeed to get to the plane and stop Terl from committing a folly that would ruin the future.

With a sharp pain in his side from exertion, Jonnie pounded up the steep, twisting trail, swift feet spurning the ground. He hardly dared take time to check the sun. He could not be sure whether Terl was keeping the appointment by a clock or by the heavens. He dreaded any moment to hear ahead of him the roar of the plane taking off for a lethal pass over the village.

More than five miles and all uphill! And over a very bad trail.

Jonnie heard the beginnings of a start-up ahead of him. He was almost there. He burst through the brush at the edge of the plateau. The plane was already beginning to rise.

He yelled, waving his arms, racing forward. If he missed, all his work would be undone.

The plane hovered, feet off the ground, turning toward the village.

Jonnie threw his kill-club the last thirty feet to strike the fuselage and attract attention.

The plane settled back. Jonnie collapsed on the ground, drawing air in loud, hoarse breaths. The roar of the plane turned off and Terl opened the door.

“Did they chase you out?” said Terl into his face mask. “Well, get in, animal, and we'll go down and carry out a proper plan.”

“No,” said Jonnie as he crawled up into the seat, still panting. His feet were bruised from stones and he inspected them. “It’s all set.”

Terl was derisive. “All night I saw fires burning on the tops of the hills. I was sure they were roasting you for a feast!”

“No,” said Jonnie. “They lit fires to call in candidates for the work group.”

Terl plainly did not see how this could be.

“We have to be very careful,” said Jonnie.

Terl could agree with that.

“They're going to meet in a meadow about three miles from here.”

“Ah, you got them to get together so we could blast them better.”

“Look, Terl, we can succeed only if we do this exactly right.”

“You sure are wheezing. Tell me the truth, are they chasing you?”

Jonnie threw down a moccasin and it made a loud snap. “Blast it! It 's all arranged! Only we have to finish it. There will be hundreds in that meadow. I want you to land at the upper edge of it. I’ll show you where. And then you must sit in the door of the plane and do absolutely nothing. Just sit there. I will choose from the candidates. We will get them aboard and leave by tomorrow morning.”

“You're giving me orders?” shouted Terl.

“That's how it was arranged.” He was putting his moccasins back on. “You must just sit there in the plane door so you can watch and make sure it all goes well.”

“I understand,” said Terl with a sudden grin. “You have to have me there to frighten them into submission!”

“Exactly,” said Jonnie. “Can we go down there now?”